Faded Memories
by Detonator Stera
Summary: A finger-snap of time can change everything.  The challenge is dealing with the after-math.


_General disclaimer: Max Steel doesn't not belong to me in any way, shape, or form I make no profit from this work, except some exercise of the creative muscles._

_Author's Note: Sooooooo... Oh, for those who didn't read my bio, this is the writer formerly known as Maxy Steel. And with that cleared up, this is a re-write of the last story I'd been working on before I vanished off the face of the planet, called "A Fading Memory." I can say with all sincerity I have no memory of where I was going with this back then, but when I read it a bit ago, I found myself wanting to make these changes. So, unlike the old story, there won't be any "slash" in this one. I don't even remember how that was going to come up. On with the fic!_

**FADED MEMORIES**

**BY:**

**DETONATOR STERA**

Max Steel yawned hugely into his hand as he guided _Hawk_ into the docking tunnel leading down into N-Tek's hangar. Ten minutes previous, the jet had begun showing clear signs of distress, flying sluggishly and emitting unhappy squawks in response to any touch of it's controls. As it was also four in the morning, and the tail-end of a difficult mission, Max's exhaustion was overriding his concern for the aircraft's well-being, especially since the small plane had gotten him safely home. He let out a another jaw-cracking yawn as the ship powered down with a grumpy sputter, stretching his arms over his head.

"Bro, leave a note for Chuck to -yawn- take a look at _Hawk_," the brunette agent commented, fumbling with his flight harness. Berto grunted in reply, pushing up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. It felt like someone had stuck sandpaper behind his eyelids.

"Sure thing, _hermano,_" he replied absently. Max rolled more than climbed out of _Hawk's_ cockpit, still managing something close to upright as he headed out of the hangar. The doors whooshed open as he reached them, and he nearly stumbled into the figure standing on the other side.

"Graceful, Steel," Kat commented wryly, slapping a hand against his chest to deflect him.

"One of us has to be, Hotstuff," he replied with a grin and a yawn, grunting as her fist plowed neatly into his belly for the remark.

"I hope you remember that you've only got two more months before I make you eat every one of those smart-ass remarks you've been dropping," she reminded him, folding her arms. His eyes softened as he laid a hand on the rounded curve her stomach had become.

"Can't wait for it," he leaned in to kiss her, pleased when her arms came up around his neck, then grinned at the feel of a tiny kick against his palm. Another yawn made him remember the late hour, and the fact that his pregnant lover was now on partial maternity leave, and shouldn't have even been present.

"Are you supposed to be up this late? I mean, with the baby and all?" he questioned.

"Kid wouldn't settle down, so I figured I'd see if you needed a ride home," Kat replied with a casual shrug, turning to head for the exit.

"You are a _goddess_," Max enthused, stretching his arms over his head. Kat smirked up at him.

"I know," she agreed confidently. "And I know you're going to be making that egg thing again in the morning," she continued cheerfully. Max groaned at the memory at what the pregnant body considered ... _edible._

"Night, 'bro," he called to the open air, Kat voicing a similar sentiment. The scientist lifted his head from where it had been resting against the control panel.

"Tell Kat 'night. And get some sleep, Max," Berto replied around a deep yawn. That was his plan, and fortunately for him, the cot he kept in his lab was less than four feet away, and beckoning alluringly.

* * *

><p>Six blissfully uninterrupted hours later, Berto opened eyes that still felt as if someone had replaced his eyelids with sandpaper, and yawned hugely. As he was contemplating attempting to get a little more sleep, two very important facts caught up with him. One, Marshak was on vacation, and would remain so for at least another few days. Two, all of Max's back-up <em>Hawks<em> were already on the disabled list. The dark-eyed agent threw an arm over his eyes and groaned, knowing that Max could walk down a street and get caught up in a city-threatening mission which required an aircraft of some sort. And after a couple of unfortunate incidents, none of the other agents would let Team Steel borrow their planes, due to Max's tendency to return them, through no fault of his own, in more pieces than they left in. All this meant that _Hawk _needed to get fixed ASAP, and Berto was stuck doing it. He grinned as he sat up on the cot. He was damned if he was going to be fixing the plane all on his own. Max needed more experience with repairs anyway, in case he was ever stranded somewhere that a repair team couldn't get to.

Josh twitched as the chirp of his bio-link coming on-line echoed in his head, and let out a sleepy growl. Beside him, Kat muttered something in her sleep.

"Rise and shine, _hermano_," Berto's voice came through the bio-link, and Josh opened narrowed eyes.

"Psycho had better be standing outside my house with an army tank, or I'm going to hurt you," the blonde announced simply in a low tone.

"Not yet, but maybe he'll get creative. I need you to come down to base," the younger man replied with a grin. Josh rolled onto his back, absently careful not to bump Kat in the process. He'd learned fast of the pregnant woman's temper.

"_Why_?" he demanded quietly, glaring at the ceiling.

"Chuck's on vacation and that was your last _Hawk, _Max," Berto returned simply. The blonde man sighed heavily.

"And it couldn't have waited a couple more hours?" he grumbled. Berto chuckled.

"Never know when duty will call, _hermano. _Get going," he ordered. A quiet chirp signaled the disconnection of the bio-link, and Josh yawned again, deciding that he wouldn't kill his partner, since he had valid points.

"Mission already?" Kat mumbled sleepily, halfway looking over her shoulder. Resigned to the change in plans, Josh rolled onto his side, pressing against her back and lightly wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Berto and I are stuck fixing _Hawk_," he explained, leaning to kiss her temple, chuckling at the muttered comment she voiced. "Get some more sleep. I'll make you that nasty egg thing when I get back," he told her, chuckling when she glared at him.

"Next time, _you_ get to be the pregnant one," she grumbled. He kissed her, then slipped off the bed to shower and eat before leaving.

* * *

><p>Having completed the first part of his mission, Berto decided to head down to the hangar and get an idea of how long he and Max would be tied up with repairing <em>Hawk. <em>Toolbox in hand, the dark-haired agent rounded the last corner, and came to the main hangar. A quick pass code entry, and a fingerprint scan later, he was standing in the expansive area. About midway down the line closest to him, Berto spotted the troublemaker. _Hawk_, Berto mused, as he crossed the concrete expanse, didn't _look_ like it was having any problems. As anyone knows, however, looks can be very deceiving. The Hispanic man came up to the small jet, placed his tool box on one of the wings, then approached the engine panel cautiously. Something smelled funny, now that he was close to the machine, and there was a deep dent in the plate over the engine. With all the finesse and delicacy of a master surgeon opening up a patient, the scientist carefully pulled open the engine cover. He was immediately hit in the face with a nasty, smoky smell that would have been far worse if the machine hadn't had time to air out overnight. He coughed slightly and waved a hand to beat the foul stench back long enough for him to draw a breath of good air and analyze the situation. His first thought was that Max was lucky _Hawk _had survived the trip home. The jet was definitely not in top fighting form at the moment. With a heavy sigh, the Hispanic agent set down the tool box, and went off to gather the other tools he'd need to perform the necessary repairs.

An hour later, Berto was hanging out by the jet, far enough away that he'd have a good chance of dodging if the plane decided to spontaneously explode into a ball of fire. The nasty, smoky smell was starting to drift towards him. Berto sighed impatiently, tapping a foot and grumbling under his breath. The hangar doors whooshed open, causing the black-haired man to jump slightly. He turned, expecting to see Max saunter through. Instead, a female agent with short red hair dashed through the opening, and headed for one of the jets. She waved cheerfully to the scientist as she blew by him. The Hispanic man raised a hand in response, before crossing his arms over his chest, and watching the agent's jet fire up and taxi across the hangar to the launching tube. Silently, the scientist uttered a quick prayer that his fellow agent's mission went well. Then coughed, as he inhaled through his nose and got a heavy whiff of batter-jet-engine smell, which had snuck over while he wasn't paying attention. He sneezed, dug into the toolbox for a small emergency supply of tissues, and blew his nose several times, trying to get rid of the clingy, oily smell wafting up into his nostrils. With his back turned away from the door, and his ears still trying to pop from him having blown a little too hard, Berto didn't hear the hangar door swish open, or the soft thunk of it closing. Neither did he catch the soft footfalls, though the arrival was doing a good job of stepping silently, so that could have accounted for it. He did, however, definitely catch on when an arm wrapped around his neck, hauling him into prime noogie position. Berto yelped indignation, slapping at the offending arm. When he was released, he turned to glare at his partner.

"That was from Kat, for taking away her heater," the brown-haired man informed his partner when he'd released him. The Hispanic scientist ran a hand over his hair, half-heartedly smoothing the mussed strands, and muttering something under his breath in his native tongue. However, Max hadn't spent the better part of four years around Berto without picking up on some of the language.

"I am not!" he protested hotly. The younger of the two grinned cheekily, leading the way to the problem area of _Hawk_. Max ambled after him, discreetly yawning into his hand as he did. Berto flipped his tool box open and started rummaging through it, while his partner surveyed the damage done by his life-saving stunt just hours earlier.

"It doesn't look so bad. Why'd you have to call me out here? I was having a nice dream! It had all the essentials! Bath tub full of Jell-o, whipped cream, and-" he started to complain. Berto brandished a monkey wrench at him, cutting the older agent off in mid-sentence.

"_Hermano_, I don't need or want to know about those weird little fantasies your mind cooks up after you've inhaled too many jet fumes and ate pizza that's been sitting in your fridge for nearly a week," the scientist warned. Max raised his hands in surrender. "And I called you out here for three reasons. One, because you need to learn how to fix _Hawk_ on your own, in case you ever get stranded somewhere on a mission. Two, I was up just as late as you, and if I suffer, you suffer too. And three, I need someone to hold these cable ends out of the way while I see what exactly needs to be fixed," he finished, gesturing to the open panel. The older of the two threw up his hands dramatically, then trotted past his tech-smart friend, and vaulted up onto the nose of his aerial mode of transportation, resting his chest against the side of the jet, legs hanging off either side of the tip of the plane. Berto came up next to the craft, and set his toolbox down, before tossing a pair of anti-shock gloves up at his companion. They landed on the athlete's right shoulder. He plucked them off with disinterest.

"Why do I need these? Hawk's not even on," he complained. Berto gave him a chiding look.

"Safety first, _hermano_," he replied, wagging a finger in a fashion that reminded Max of a teacher, or possibly a patronizing adult. Sighing, the enhanced athlete tugged the gloves on, more to speed the process along than out of obedience. His younger companion grinned before slipping on his own pair of zap-resistant gloves, and plucking a small device out of his tool kit. He pulled a few extensions on it out, and fiddled with a few wires attached to it. Max eyed the bit of machinery with distaste.

"Don't tell me you turned Fido into a spider," he groaned. Berto looked up at him with a devious smirk.

"No, but that's a great idea. Thanks, _hermano_," he replied cheerfully, flicking a switch on the device. It hummed to itself, and several blinking lights came on. The older agent sighed heavily, letting his head drop with a _thunk_ on the cool metal surface he was stretched out on. His tech-smart friend laughed at him as he poked aside some wires and settled the device into place.

"Ha-ha, you little sadist. Come on, let's get this thing done, so I can _possibly_ cram a couple more hours of sleep in before I go watch Jo in her skateboarding competition," the nano-probe enhanced agent grumbled. Berto smiled at him pleasantly.

"Sure thing. Here, hold these wires out of the way," he replied, slipping a hand around a small cluster of three wires and holding them up towards the older man. Max grabbed them, and tugged them lightly, keeping them securely out of the way, and halfway leaning over to watch his partner work.  
>An hour and a half later, Berto had finished maybe half the necessary repairs, as several circuits had been badly damaged, and he had to painstakingly fix the mutilations bit by bit. Max had fallen asleep several times, only to be poked roughly awake by a rather irate Berto, who had, each time, been alerted to his companion's state of unconsciousness by a line of drool hitting a tool he was working with, or his gloved hand.<p>

"_Hermano_, I'm going to sandbag your face if you do that again," the younger man threatened, cleaning the soldering iron with a look of distaste. With a sleepy mumble, the blond-haired man pushed himself up on his elbows, wiping at his mouth.

"Geez, bro. Not like I'm bleeding all over you or anything," he complained. The dark-eyed man sighed, and went back to his task. Max flopped back down, and immediately started to drift off again. His hand holding the wires loosened it's grip, and the loops of plastic-encased metal dropped, falling into Berto's line of sight, and startling him out of his concentration.

"Max!" the Hispanic scientist scolded, grabbing the wires and shoving them back into his partner's hand. The older of the two gasped in surprise at the move, halfway sitting up and looking around in confusion.

"What?" he finally grumbled. He received his partner's best "hands on hips glare, without the hands on hips," pulled up his best sheepish look. "Sorry," he offered, grinning boyishly. The younger man rolled his eyes, before sighing and going back to his task. The taller of the pair, now determined to stay awake until the job was done, resolutely sat up, shifting his hips so he wouldn't rock forward, and braced his free hand on the body-warmed metal, while he observed the scientist's operation with quick blue eyes. Berto muttered to himself under his breath, quietly going over what he planned to do next. He pulled a small device out of his toolbox, and fastened it among the circuit boards and wires he'd been working on. Curious, Max leaned forward to inspect the bit of metal and circuit.

"Careful. That's to measure the systems on _Hawk_, see what else I have to do," the technically-inclined agent cautioned. His partner nodded in understanding, and the Hispanic man turned to fish something out of the tool box. Max moved to reclaim his former posture atop the jet. The hand resting on the small plane's hull slipped. With a surprised grunt, the extreme athlete scrabbled frantically, trying to keep his balance. He started to slip off the side of the jet. His free hand clawed for purchase on the smooth metal surface, and the hand clutching the wires yanked sharply, tearing several of them from their ports, the frayed ends getting caught under the band of the super agent's bio-link as he strained for purchase. One leg left it's spot, and hooked inside _Hawk's_ open cockpit, trying to stop the descent. The tip of one black booted foot punched a button on the control panel. Berto heard the startled yelp from his partner, as well as the sputter of the jet's engine, and whirled, in time to see a bright electric blue flash burst from the transport, and shoot up the wires in Max's hand, and course into the older man's body. He wasn't in time to stop the event. Time seemed to turn to slow-moving liquid, as he watched in surprised horror as his best friend was flung, struck by an invisible hand of immense power, from the side of the jet. Berto could only produce a sharp cry of panic, watching as his partner went flying a full twenty feet across the hangar. The Hispanic agent's limbs turned to stone, arresting any and all movement, as Max's form struck the unforgiving cement floor, bounced once, skidded several feet, and finally, came to a complete halt almost thirty feet away.

TO BE CONTINUED...

_Post-fic Author's note: Please excuse the lack of paragraph starters. I can't figure out how to put them in and have them stay in the document when I upload it for the life of me. And again, after an EIGHT YEAR hiatus, I'm back! Bet you all thought I was dead or something, huh? Long story short, my memory sucks, and that account is inaccessible. Suck. I promise I'll try to get the next chapter of this out as soon as I can. It helps that I already know what direction I'm going, but the busy thing I call life won't help much. Bear with me. I'm trying to get back into something that was such a huge passion for me when I was younger. Well, until next time, everyone!_

_-Detonator_


End file.
